Reason #214 Why Moving Sucks

The ward you are leaving has you give farewell talks right before your new ward immediately invites you to give introductory talks. Two months; two talks.

Bittersweet Valentine

For most, Valentine's Day is about cherishing memories of the most romantic day of the year. For me, I break out into a cold sweat when I think about my first Valentine's Day in love.

It was Wednesday, February 14, 2001. Middle of the week for America, seemingly the end of life for me. I had been seeing Jenny for a few months (and when I say "seeing," I mean that literally. I hadn't actually braved up to talking to her yet, but I did see her on her way to class each day).

I had worked up the gumption to finally ask her out the previous week. I wrote down the words, rehearsed in front of the mirror, and practiced them on my roommate until I was polished. I set out to ask her on foot, since the law in Idaho at the time forbade driving while either intoxicated or twitterpated (they've since removed the latter restriction).

Jenny lived at Royal Crest Apartments, a veritable fountain of beautiful women springing forth from each door. So it came as a shock when I approached the complex to see a throng of beautiful men swarming her door, and her door only. As I got closer my fears became reality. I heard it as clear as day. The word "yes" rang out. It was a knife in the ears. Scores of grown men fell to their knees, hands reaching upwords, and crying out "noooooo!" Jenny had just accepted her Valentine's Day date.

My heart collapsed. My eyes flooded. My lip did that quivering thing that usually embarrasses me. I ran back home. Once back, I fell into a sorrowful rage, and having momentarily lost control of my senses, I cut the "DO NOT REMOVE UNDER PENALTY OF LAW" tag from my mattress. My roommate, already bitter over my triumph against him at a ward talent show with my rendition of Mariah Carey's DREAMLOVER over his version of Def Leppard's POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME, reported me to the authorities. My punishment was a temporary restraining order for a week from anyone who slept on a mattress.

The week went by lonesomely. On February 14, it was worse. I needed to get away. Fortunately, my Chinese professor had a pilot's license, and slept on a futon. His wife was out of town brokering a cease-fire in Cote d'Ivoire, so he offered to take me up in his plane to get a "new perspective" on life, and on Rexburg. I had nothing better to do.

We launched in the early afternoon, about the same time Jenn was on her date. Unbeknownst to me, Brutus, Jenny's date and a Swedish body-builder of lower nobility, planned to propose to Jenny on this, their first date. He walked her to a place on campus where the view was breathtaking. And then he got down on one knee . . . .

In the plane, I was losing my breath as well. Elvis, the hanger's mechanic, negligently inspected our plane before takeoff. In mid-flight lights starting blinking and alarms started sounding. My professor did all he could to maintain control, but we knew we were doomed when we started seeing a trail of engine exhaust pump out of the fuselage. We pitched and rolled, circled and looped. Finally, he ordered us to eject.

"Well, Brutus, I just don't know. It's out first date."

"What's THAT???" He said, puzzled.

"Well, normally it's what people do before they ask someone to marry them."

"No, I mean THAT!" He pointed up to the sky. Falling from above was yours truly. I landed perfectly in between them.

"Joe, what are you doing?" She asked. I was out of breathe, still feeling the shock of what had just transpired. All I could do is point up in the air to where our plane had been.

And this is what she saw (you may have to click the bigger to see the whole thing):




















And the rest is history. She kissed me (although, as a gentlemen, I tried to decline such a forward advance). She hugged me. I handed Brutus my parachute, and hugged and kissed Jenny some more.

And that's how we spent our first Valentine's Day.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, MY ETERNAL LOVE.

(To my Jenny, who is my gift from above.)

It's snowing in . . . Dallas???

Check out my car:










Think it's a picture of my car parked at ALDI in Cleveland? It's not.

This is what welcomed me when I got back to the Park-n-Ride in Dallas. I leave my car here to catch the train into the city. This is after 16 hours at the office Thursday, February 11, 2010. I think my snow brush is still packed in a box somewhere in our garage.

Here's the house:










I made fun of Jenny when she made me pack our sled when we were moving. I'm not laughing now. Yesterday, Jenny took the kids sledding.

Official: 9 inches of snow in 24 hours.

Jenn Speaking:

For the first time in a very long time I am finding myself with extra time. Oh, I have plenty to do, I guess--but I get to decide when and what I'm going to do. I'm not finishing classes, showing a house, packing boxes, moving, or unpacking boxes. I don't have friends to spend time with (sorry I ended that with a preposition, but it seems so snobbish to say "I don't have friends with whom to spend time"). I am making friends. But you know how it is... it takes a while to feel like you are really friends. The house is mostly unpacked and mostly painted. I want to wait until the house is perfectly organized to take pictures... so sorry, I may never take pictures. Logan is excelling in school. Madison and I are trying to do our own school at home. Grant loves the racetrack that is the layout of our home--the kitchen has two entries that go through 4 rooms to make one speedy circle. We met the local library, and we are enlisted in the Friday 10:30 story-time. I've decided to learn a little about Interior Design (did I mention I hate the kitchen in this house?) and have requested every book the library has on the subject--4--let's just say this is no Cuyahoga Library system. I've also reawakened my interest in writing. And I'm excited to do my visiting teaching next week. Although, I am definitely less excited about the talk I am giving on the 28th of February. Bishopric members should definitely think this out: I gave a talk my last week in Ohio because I was leaving. And now I am giving another talk because I am new. Maybe it is a way to discourage people from moving--a punishment so to speak. '

Anyway.

So tonight, over dinner, I started telling the kids stories about my life. I tell them a lot of stories--many they hear over and over. I have written some of them down, but I really need to make a personal history for my family. So, I thought I would tell you some of mine (since I've got some time).

Do you use a Kitchen Aid or a Bosch? My family had a kitchen aid when I was little... they gave it away when they bought a Bosch and figured out it pretty much ruled. So I grew up mixing foods with a Bosch. One day, when I was in the sixth grade, I invited Meghan Scott over after school. We decided to make an angel food cake (from a box). We mixed it up in the trusty Bosch and got ready to bake it. I told her how cool the Bosch was because you could just mix that cake up and put it in the oven in the bowl. She was a little hesitant, but I quickly convinced her when I explained that Angel food cakes had that hole in the middle--the same shape as the Bosch bowl (my parents were still at work, I think). Sure enough, 20 minutes later, the alarms started beeping and the smell of burnt plastic started smelling. Apparently you should not put a Bosch bowl in the oven.

Madison broke (another) dining chair yesterday. As you may or may not know--she has bad luck with chairs. I couldn't be mad at her, though, because as you will soon realize, I've had my fair share of breaking things.